


you look good up on that stage

by amadridlover



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Crack, Crossdressing, Drunk Shenanigans, Fishnets, Football, I don't know what the fuck this is, I'm Sorry, Iker's cock, M/M, blowjob, handjob, i can't believe i'm actually posting this, implied foursome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amadridlover/pseuds/amadridlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man on stage bends over. Iker’s eyes find his tight ass, his long, slender legs covered in fishnets, and Iker wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you look good up on that stage

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because an image of Carels Puyol in fishnet-stockings entered my mind while I was trying to study for my exams. Naturally, I decided to write about it. This is total, total crack.  
> 2 am writing, so apologies in advance. XD

The room is a wild haze of plush fabrics and floral scents and everything is covered in magenta or ruby red. The curtains of the stage sparkle sensually as Iker is shown to his seat. Cesc stumbles behind him, giggling, latched onto his hand like he never wants to let go. They’re both drunk. _So drunk_. The waiters are wearing smudged black eye-liner that drives Iker just a little bit wild but then again, their choice of attire—tight black pants and suspenders over nude, totally bare abs might be a contributing factor. The men here are so young that Iker feels filthy.

Cesc sits down half in his chair, half falling into Iker’s lap and he’s watching the stage eagerly, even though the show hasn’t started yet.

Their drinks are brought to them in next to no time and the man bends over lowly to reach across the table to give Cesc his drink, oh-so-accidentally rubbing against Iker. Iker’s face is so close to the man’s nipple he wants to reach out and lick it.  Maybe he does, he doesn’t remember.

Cesc is getting excited, Iker notices almost belatedly. He can tell by the way he’s nuzzling into his neck and mewling and it’s so young and vulnerable and _needy_ that Iker stiffens instantly. The waiter doesn’t fail to notice, giving him a heated look.

Iker sips at his drink slowly, letting his eyes lift from the glass to the waiter who is now practically salivating.

“Please,” the man begs, and his arousal becomes evident, his sudden bulge impressive. He nods purposefully over to the toilets at the back of the room, where it’s dark and secret and dirty things happen. It’s a plea. It’s a promise. He hasn’t walked away, waiting for his answer, too busy watching Iker’s pink, slightly-chapped lips curl seductively over the rim of his glass, his tongue poking out slightly to lick the thin layer of foam on the cocktail. The tension is straining and Iker just wants, oh, so much, _too much_. Cesc hasn't noticed a thing, his warmth at Iker’s side only intensifying Iker’s need.

“Later,” Iker commands, licking his lips. His throat feels dry. Cesc looks up but doesn’t say anything and Iker’s hand travels to his waist, gripping him there.

The other man whimpers.

Cesc’s breathing is laboured as he starts to kiss Iker’s neck slowly, licking, biting, pulling with his teeth. Iker stutters, his eye close for a second in sweet, sweet agony. Around him there’s an announcement that the show is about to start.

The waiter’s eyes are still trained on Iker. He takes a step closer and Iker watches in drunken disbelief as his hand comes closer and closer, runs down his chest slowly, slowly, down his sensitive stomach, cupping him there where he needs it most. He bucks up, helplessly. As if to counter that, Cesc increases his speed, his movements becoming more desperate, his attention to Iker’s neck aggressive. The waiter bends his lips to Iker’s ear and bites it lightly, giving Iker’s cock in his hand a firm squeeze.

The curtains at the front of the stage draw back and the room is filled with production smoke.

Iker watches in a kind of out-of-body experience as the smoke snakes its way across the room, enveloping the tables and patrons, oppressive to some, offering much-needed cover to others. The waiter makes the most of the smoke and lets his hand slip through Iker’s waistline, cupping him skin-to-skin. Iker responds with a grunt.

“Later, daddy,” the waiter promises in a silky voice, withdrawing his hand from him. Iker’s cock twitches at the title, his eyes blur. He’s too undone to talk, to on-edge to manage a word let alone a sentence to the youth being offered to him. It feels forbidden, virginal somehow, even though he’s been fucking Cesc for years. It feels wrong but so good and Iker wants to drown in it.

Sultry music begins to play from the band adjacent to the stage, and Cesc hums against Iker’s skin, the vibrations doing nothing but spur him on. Cesc’s hands trace Iker’s bicep.

A silhouette is visible on the dark stage, the smoke obscuring it from view. The body starts dancing to the beat of the music, except, it’s more like swaying, or gyrating, Iker isn’t sure, but there’s something overtly carnal about it and that’s all that matters. A spot light creeps its way forward from the back of the room, tantalising the audience in their need to _see_. Iker can’t take his eyes away. Beside him, Cesc is panting, his arousal digging into Iker’s side.

The spot light descends on the figure and Iker can’t believe his eyes.

He gasps. His brain malfunctions.

The— _man—_ is beautiful, erotic; unlike anyone he’s ever seen before. The music crescendos as the man on the stage opens his lovely painted lips and Iker swears the audience collectively moans. His voice is visceral, undiluted, pure sex on ice as he begins to sing. Iker can’t help but palm himself discretely. His need, his desire, is right in front of him incarnate, served on a stage for all to feast on. His clouded vision is making him dizzy but he can’t look away. He takes another sip of his drink, trying to clear his head.

The man on stage bends over. Iker’s eyes find his tight ass, his long, slender legs covered in fishnets, and Iker _wants._

His outfit doesn’t leave much to the imagination and Iker clears his throat, uneasy, tense. He’s not going to live much longer, he knows it. He’s going to be taken away from this blissful torture, he’s going to die coming in his pants because there’s no way that he’d really be allowed to enjoy this. There’s no way that it’s really real. Is there?

The man is playing with his bouncing curls, running his fingers sensually through his hair, arranging it as he poses seductively on stage, leaning against a grand piano Iker hadn’t even noticed was there. His hips move in perfect synch with every beat of the live music, and Iker is transfixed with his thighs, covered in netting, tensing with every rise and fall of his movements. He sits himself on the piano, swings his legs back and forth once, his eyes scanning the crowded room. Cesc is agitated, and hides a moan in Iker’s neck, biting at his now-sensitive skin, bruised from attention.

Iker brings his glass to his lips, swallows the cold liquid, feels it slink down his raw throat. Cesc’s mouth finds his ear and he says his name, in a drunken, breathy voice that makes Iker’s breathing hitch. He’s so close to losing any control he thought he had.

He forces himself to look around the room, he doesn’t want to miss out on any of this, doesn’t want to forget it. He sees the youth, feeds off their energy. He’s the oldest man in the room by far. He’s got the longest way to go. They’re all getting each other off, with swollen lips, hard laps and weak knees. Cesc crashes into him with his hips, his hand roughly attacking his cock. Once, twice—that’s all it takes. He moans loudly and returns to sucking on Iker’s neck in languid motions. Iker can feel the wetness cool every time Cesc pulls away, only to return back to it more wantonly.

Iker’s vein is pulsing at his temple, there’s a sort of urgency to it, a rhythm he can’t ignore. It makes the room spin. He pushes Cesc’s head down to where he needs him most, forcing his lips to wrap around him, engulf him in heat. Cesc lets out a surprised sound, muffled by Iker’s cock. He doesn’t resist, starts lapping at it straight away.

A pair of eyes meets Iker’s.

The man on the stage is watching, all the while watching and Iker feels caught out. He doesn’t stop, neither of them do. Iker keeps his hand on Cesc’s head, keeps him stuck to his lap. He doesn’t let him up. Cesc sucks like he needs to, like it’s his favourite thing in the world to see Iker get off—to help _daddy_ get off.

Iker shudders.

The man on stage opens his legs wide as Iker’s hips press up into Cesc’s mouth, his jeans-clad cock visibly straining to be released—but not here, not now. _Later_ , Iker chants to himself.

The lights are pounding, beating like the alcohol in his blood. Iker bites his lip roughly, stops himself from yelling out in pleasure. He strokes Cesc’s head with a sloppy hand, too busy watching the main show to pay proper attention. His fingers trace Cesc’s lips, evade his mouth.

The man on stage is stroking himself now, lazy, his cock out and his eyes on Iker.

Around him boys are making out in drunken debauchery. Cesc is watching them greedily, his tongue wagging. Iker runs his hand down Cesc’s spine, making him cower into him, rub his face along Iker’s broad chest, smell his scent. Iker helps him sit more evenly in his lap. He grits his teeth at the pressure as their cocks align.

The man’s movements on stage now are purely pornographic, his hips thrusting into the air, his hand his only friction.

His cry as he comes is gravelly, raw, the song long forgotten about, and Iker stops what he’s doing. The whole room’s eyes are back on the stage, on the man catching his breath, laid out on the piano for all see. The music stops eventually and the audience applaud. Iker’s still not sure what’s just happened.

Cesc gives him a silly grin and Iker can’t help but thumb his cheek in affection.

Iker’s eyes move from Cesc to the movement behind him. The waiter from before is suddenly at the stage, helping the man descend the stairs, leading him into a side room. Before he disappears he looks over at Iker and Cesc, gives them a meaningful nod.  

Cesc gets up and motions for Iker to follow.

“What?” Iker asks him, too confused, too keyed-up to keep up.

“They’re waiting for you _Daddy_ ,” he says with big eyes, licking his lips. A jolt of heat floods Iker’s stomach, going down, and he crashes his lips with Cesc’s, drinking from them, taking from them as much as he can. Cesc moans into the kiss, his arms trapped between their bodies leaving him powerless, giving Iker permission to do what he likes.

“Well we’d better go then,” Iker says in a low voice. His eyes are hard as he leads Cesc after the other two, his hand palming his ass possessively. They’re watched as they leave but Iker soon forgets about it, his attention diverted by what’s waiting for him in the room.

“ _Daddy’s here_ ,” Iker says, and locks the door behind him

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos mean so much to me! I'd love to hear from you! <33


End file.
